This weekend my lovely small group girls and I talked about the woman in Mark 5 who had been bleeding for twelve years before she approached Jesus. We were trying to get into her sandals, see what that whole experience would have been like. We talked about living a life if we were considered unclean, to have intense pain and spend all our money fixing it, yet continue to bleed.
It was kind of tough because for some of them, twelve years is their entire life. For me, not so much, but still. And also because in our day and age and in this set of girls, health is usually a given.
But as God would have it, that same day I was reminded of a relevant parallel. Though we may not bleed physically, there are times when we feel like our hearts are bleeding out. Things beyond my control have speared me and though I brace my hands across the wound, the blood of my soul wells between my fingers and drips into a wasted stain on the floor.
Though its probably not quite as icky as an actual trail of blood, it is still off-putting. No one wants to touch messy emotions, they might smear. It's not worth the risk of having someone else's grief stain their happiness. So not only do we stagger about in pain, but often in silence, too, in case those around would back away, lip curled, from the unclean woman.
But not always.
I am so blessed to have in my life people who will pull away my hands, examine the damage, and draw me toward the Healer. And He, through their loving hands, bandages that wound. Though it is not always--heck, not even often--a miraculous about-face in emotional well-being, it is hope nonetheless.
Thank you Jesus for the hearts you have shown me, for the comfort and hope and love you have poured into your people, and the generosity they show by pouring it out on others. May I be your bandaging hands to others. All my love
PS As it turns out I used all the welling emotion to pour into my nano piece, so it wasn't even wasted. I will take the anology no further because it could turn creepy really fast, but thank you, Jesus, for turning pain into positives, and sadness into plot. All my love, still.